"So tell me, is this the best you can do?" Lucian taunted, breathing hard but steady, eyes locked on his opponent.

"This won't take long," Zevric replied calmly, lowering his stance. "I think I'll end it… with this attack."

He charged forward, sand erupting beneath his boots. Lucian's instincts screamed in warning. He could feel the threat closing in. Quickly, he raised his hand, summoning every blade in his arsenal.

In an instant, more than three hundred swords materialized before him, hovering in midair, forming a dense barrier of steel. A glowing shield surrounded him as he began flinging razor-sharp darts from his left hand in rapid bursts, each aimed directly at Zevric's chest.

Zevric didn't slow down. He met every incoming blade head on, his sword a blur of power and precision. He wasn't using any special technique, only raw strength, skill, and perfect timing. Every strike he delivered shattered another sword, breaking through the metallic storm like lightning cutting through clouds.

Then came the impact.

A violent shockwave burst from Zevric's sword as its edge sliced the air clean. The force obliterated the remaining blades and sent a pressure wave crashing forward. Lucian barely had time to react before pain tore through his chest. The edge of Zevric's strike had grazed him, clean and deep.

The air left his lungs as he was lifted off his feet and thrown backward. He hit the ground hard, blood staining the sand beneath him.

"What… what just happened?" Lucian gasped, clutching his chest. "He didn't even use a special attack… and yet… I'm bleeding."

His vision blurred. So this is it. Even after being given a chance, I still lost.

Zevric approached silently, sword raised to finish it. But before the blade could fall, Lucian weakly lifted his hand, signaling surrender.

The arena fell quiet.

"He's given up," the emissary announced, raising his hand. "Winner, Zevric!"

The crowd erupted with cheers.

"This wasn't even much of a fight," one spectator said.

"Yeah," another replied. "I knew Zevric would win from the start. And he's still holding back."

Zevric then sheathed his sword, his expression calm and unreadable, and walked out of the arena without a word.

"Wow," the emissary exclaimed, his voice echoing across the stands. "That was an amazing match, truly incredible! Both fighters showed remarkable skill, but Zevric clearly held the upper hand."

The crowd roared in agreement, their cheers shaking the stone walls of the coliseum.

"Now," the emissary continued, raising his voice once more, "for the next battle, a match many of you have been waiting for!"

The arena fell silent with anticipation.

"Now, Sela and Luta, step into the back of the arena," the emissary called out.

Both fighters stood. Luta adjusted his sword at his waist before walking toward the back entrance. Sela also rose to her feet, her sharp eyes meeting her master's.

"Master," Sela said quietly, glancing at Kyrion. "I'm heading out."

Kyrion leaned forward slightly, his tone cold but expectant. "Do your best and don't shame me like Cora did when she lost to that girl, Linda. Go out there and make me proud."

Sela smirked. "Boss, I will. I'm not like Cora. She was always weak. I'm strong and I'll prove it."

She bowed her head briefly, then lifted it high, determination gleaming in her eyes. Turning, she walked out of the crowd and disappeared through the entrance leading to the arena's back gate.

"Now," the emissary's voice boomed, "for the moment you have all been waiting for, it's time to call them into the arena!"

The crowd erupted into cheers, their excitement shaking the stands.

"Sela, step into the arena!" the emissary shouted.

The gate slid upward with a heavy metallic rumble. Sela stepped forward, her boots pressing into the sandy floor as the crowd roared her name.

"Now, Luta, step into the arena!"

Another gate opened across from her. Luta emerged, sword in hand, his expression calm but resolute. The two locked eyes, the air between them heavy with tension.

"May the fight begin!" the emissary declared.

Instantly, Luta dashed forward, his sword raised high. Sela stood with her gloved hands ready, thick, reinforced gloves that covered her knuckles and forearms. Her muscles tightened, her stance lowering as she sprinted forward to meet him.

Luta swung first, his blade aiming for her arm, but she dodged with speed that shocked even the front row. Her counterattack came fast: a punch straight to his stomach. The impact sent a shockwave through his body, throwing him off balance.

Gritting his teeth, Luta charged again despite the pain, slashing with both hands. This time, Sela didn't move. The blade struck, but didn't pierce her skin.

"What, what's going on?" Luta gasped, pushing with all his strength, but the sword refused to cut through.

Sela's smile widened. "You can't harm me," she said coolly. Her body shimmered faintly, traces of forbidden magic pulsing beneath her skin.

Then, with a single swing of her fist, she struck him in the head.

The punch landed like a hammer blow. Luta flew across the arena, crashing into the ground. He rolled several times before stopping, blood trickling from his mouth and down his chin.

Groaning, he drove his sword into the sand and used it to pull himself up.

No, I can't die here, he thought, his body trembling. If I lose now, it's the same as dying, because my hope dies with it.

He spat blood and glared at Sela. I came here for one reason, the prize money. My family was once noble, but we lost everything. If I win this tournament, maybe, maybe we can rise again. We could reclaim our title, our honor, and live without shame.

He straightened, gripping his sword tighter despite his wounds. Blood dripped from his mouth, but his eyes burned with fierce resolve as he faced Sela once more.

"You still dare to stand up? It would have been better if you'd stayed down," Sela said, and charged.

Luta stumbled to his feet and met her rush. She lunged with a punch; he ducked and rolled, driving the flat of his sword into the back of her neck. Pain flared and she staggered, but she didn't fall. He barreled in again, this time the flat slammed into her stomach. She doubled over, winded, then steadied herself.

Master is watching, Sela thought, anger and pride flaring. I won't shame him. She steadied, breathed, and came at him again. Luta feinted; Sela read it. Instead of retreating, she dropped low and drove a punch up from under his guard, a strike that sent him flying across the sand.

Luta crashed and rolled. Blood specked his mouth. He forced himself up, but his bones were already breaking from the force of her blows. Sela didn't relent. Her muscles tightened, each strike hitting harder. She kicked, pummeled, and hammered until Luta could no longer rise.

"Die?" Sela spat between blows. "You'd make me look weak while Master watches? Not today." She hammered the last blow so Luta crumpled unconscious.

A hush fell, then the arena erupted as the healer and stewards rushed in. From somewhere in the stands a low, cold voice muttered, an ugly thought about taking lives to feed power and immortality, then fell away beneath the crowd's roar.

"The winner is Sela!" the emissary announced through the wind amplifier, and the crowd cheered wildly.

Sela stood for a moment, breathing hard. She looked once toward the stands where Kyrion watched, then turned and walked out of the arena, victory in her step.

"Wow… such strength," Lyra murmured. "And not just that, her skin can't even be pierced."

Celia said nothing, her eyes fixed on the arena.

"It's actually the worst kind of opponent to face," Lyra continued. "Someone whose body can't be cut. It's annoying… it's unfair."

"Don't be discouraged," Nolan said calmly, turning to Celia. "You already know what to do. No matter how hard her skin is, you have that white burning flame, the one you received from the Furnace God. When you let it flow through your sword, don't stop striking. I don't care what forbidden spell she's using, or what part of Life Consume gave her that ability. Keep pushing. Eventually, you'll cut through."

"Is that so, Master?" Celia asked, her tone serious.

"Yes," Nolan said with a firm nod. "Linda did well when she fought Cora, but you, if you'd faced her, you'd have won easily. But Sela, she's different. Her fight didn't even last seven minutes."

"I'm going to give it my all," Celia said, determination burning in her eyes. "I'll make sure I win."

Nolan chuckled softly. "Well, yeah… but I don't think she's your next opponent. You haven't been called up yet. Maybe in the next match."

"Still," Celia sighed, folding her arms. "I want to fight someone already. Sitting here's getting boring."

The crowd's noise began to fade as the emissary's voice echoed across the arena.

Now she was ready.

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